


Nothing changes, if nothing has changed

by Somedrunkpirate



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ficlet, Introspection, Is this angst? You tell me, Love, Love Realisation, M/M, Napoleon pov, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: Napoleon realises he is in love with Illya one late autumn afternoon while pretending to read a Russian poetry collection.





	Nothing changes, if nothing has changed

Napoleon realises he is in love with Illya one late autumn afternoon while pretending to read a Russian poetry collection.

Illya steps into the living room, takes his hat off and shakes the rain out of his hair like a shaggy dog. Gaby looks up from her tinkering on the living room table and greets him, but her words flow into fuzzy sounds, overrun by a quiet sense of revelation. Napoleon grips his book and stares at the meaningless pages as if he’s engrossed, instead of lost within his mind. 

The thought doesn’t come with a bang, or with angles shouting from heaven. It’s not even much of a surprise; as if he’d been aware of a growing chasm in the fabric of his knowledge and just now recognises what piece fits perfectly inside. He’s fallen in love. Of course. That makes sense. 

Napoleon ponders for a moment if he should have a crisis about it, but decides not to. It’s truly a waste of his time. 

He’s already accepted his unwise but undeniable attachment to the members of his team. Both Gaby and Illya mean much more to him than an experienced spy should care about his partners, but after a while Napoleon got tired of fighting it, aware that denial might bring them more danger. He’s made peace with the fact that he will never truly recover if he were ever to lose either of them. Which is mostly inevitable, in their line of work. 

Even if they make it to retirement age alive and mostly intact, there is no guarantee that something else will break the team up beforehand. Be it injury; the ever changing political climate; or the CIA deciding they want their best performing guard dog back, there is a great chance the team will perish before they do. Napoleon bets on the latter option, personally, during dark nights with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Sanders has a very convincing historical record of being a pain in his ass, and denying him the first true source of happiness Napoleon can remember since childhood, would be beyond in character for him. 

Napoleon has already confronted the coming loss and grief, already recognised the terror of two individuals holding so much power over him. And already made peace with all of it. If pressed, such as his dying breath, he would admit to loving them both, out loud and in the open. Because he does, and he’s tired of calling himself an idiot over it. 

So that one of the people holding a great deal of his emotional stability hostage, has a bit of a label change– it doesn’t change all that much really. From loving to in love. No crisis necessary. 

The only difference is the awareness of the ache. The status quo suddenly doesn’t hold up anymore, to the growing fire in his chest. _Desire_ is it’s name, and it has awoken. A jostle in his peripheral vision jolts Napoleon out of his thoughts and he sees Illya nearing, holding a cup of tea in his hand. 

“Enjoying the read?” Illya says as he puts it on the coffee table, his lips twitched upward in what would have been a smirk on anyone else. The fire roars, and Napoleon wants to fit a thumb over those soft lips, coax another smile out of them, kiss them– 

Napoleon clears his throat and trains his eyes back to the meaningless pages. “Enjoying would be a strong word,” he says, and there is not a hint of the heat wafting through his lungs. “You reds have a different kind romance than I’m used to. It’s a bit morbid.” 

Illya snorts. “You give wife a shiny rock and call it love.” 

Napoleon shrugs. “I stole those, never once in my life gave one.” He smiles, thickens his voice with playfull leer, an unstoppable womaniser to a tee. “Not ever planning to either. I’m more of a free spirit, in that sense.” 

Illya huffs, exactly the same reaction he gives to that tone of voice any other day. A _Solo is a shame to humanity_ huff, but with undertone of fondness. As if nothing changed, as if the fire is invisible to his eyes. 

And that’s what Napoleon wanted. He breathes deeply once Illya slinks away, drawn in conversation by Gaby. It’s going to be a challenge, keeping this desire at bay, but Napoleon knows how to keep himself in stringent control, in contrary what most people believe about him. 

His reputation is a careful mix of exaggerated rumours and the occasional preplanned indulgence. Napoleon has always enjoyed the material or heated nights more than an average joe, but one can’t follow every desire into the deep end and expect not to land into prison. The reputation is another layer of insurance, a trick if you will. If the law expects a thief to be impulsive and unpredictable, they are less likely to thoroughly search for patterns. If they believe him to be a showy criminal with unreasonable amounts of luck, they won’t be able to catch him. Or at least, that’s what Napoleon had counted on until they did. They had had the luck that time.

But every heist has patterns, Napoleon’s included. There were certain things that worked, certain things Napoleon watched for. From blueprints to guard numbers, a heist wasn’t decided by the treasure, but by location. There are still a few paintings Napoleon would love to steal some day, but their setting just wouldn’t allow him to. 

His reputation also hides his methods under a farce of carelessness. Napoleon likes it when people underestimate him when he wants him to. He planned on it, he still does. To keep these different versions of himself true to character, he had to learn to keep himself in check. 

Over the years he’d come quite adapt to controlling fancies of every flavour, so this is just another piece of him to factor in, an impulse to avoid. He wants more than this, the longing is there, but it’s not what is mean to be. Not for him, not in this lifetime. 

Illya is his partner, his friend, and one of the two people he would throw himself in front of a bullet for. No matter how much the fire burns, he’s not going to let anything change that. He is lucky enough to have this, for however long it lasts. 

Napoleon pushes the thoughts away, locks them tightly among the others, and pretends that Illya doesn’t spark something in his chest, every time he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! Flower Children is going, I should be able to make it next Sunday, but for future reference: I'm gonna step to a 2 week schedule for the rest of the work too now. I thought I was busy during DD but I had no idea. I have exams begin may, so I really gotta be careful not to fuck those up ;) See y'all next week! Hope you liked this little thing :D


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